The GHOST and Charlie Dusenberry

PG. 13 TGACD R. ZEIS

Later that afternoon while Charlie and Zeph “bonded” after school, 11-year-old Dalton Dusenberry, known as DD, stared down his first batter on a cool, windy, April day. Even though it was only a practice, the 8th of the year, DD took everything seriously when it came to baseball. He took his windup and fired the ball towards home plate. The batter, teammate Gregory “Grego” Carter, grunted with effort as he swung and missed the ball.

“Nice pitch!” conceded Grego.

DD smiled as he received the dirty and well-used ball back from the catcher. DD intended to make every pitch a nice one, even though he was throwing to teammates. Practice makes perfect. At least that’s what Grandpa Dusenberry had told him years ago.

DD missed his grandfather, Gus. Even being so young he remembered his grandfather’s stories about the glory days of baseball. Players like Ruth, Gehrig, Williams, and others were brought to life by his grandfather’s vivid descriptions of their play. But what he really enjoyed were the stories about grandfather’s playing days.

“The beautiful thing about baseball,” Grandpa would say, “is that it teaches you a lot about life. You can make good decisions or bad decisions. You can either work hard to succeed or you can be a slacker and fail. You can face your greatest fears or you can run from them. Baseball is all that…and more.”

“I remember one time,” Grandpa Dusenberry went on, “back when I was playing in Albany the Yankees came to our little ballpark to scrimmage us. It was back in the 1930s. The Babe and the Iron Horse spoke to us before the game.”

DD’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “You mean Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig were there?”

“Yup,” Grandpa replied. As he spoke he gazed into the distance. DD could tell he was trying hard to remember every detail of that day. Grandpa was having more and more trouble remembering things then. “Gehrig was real shy and you could tell he didn’t like speaking in front of groups. He didn’t say much other than to work hard and never let your teammates down.” Grandpa had paused at that point, again struggling to remember something. “But the Babe, now he was a talker. He must have talked to us for nearly a half-hour before the coaches told him it was time for the scrimmage.”

“What did Babe talk about, Grandpa?”

PG. 14 TGACD R. ZEIS

“Well, the Babe wasn’t much on discipline as many people knew. He was known as a real “social” person.” Grandpa smiled at young DD about this. The boy was a bit young to hear about Ruth’s drinking and womanizing. “Anyways, Babe told us not to be afraid of failing. Give it your best every time you’re at-bat. If you strike out the first time, you come back the next time more determined than ever to get a hit. I always remembered that…”

DD remembered watching his grandfather’s face as he told his stories. Sometimes his eyes would glaze over as he dug deep into the memories of his past. Near the end of his life, DD would catch his grandfather smiling about something that he never would share with his grandson. Even as a young boy, DD somehow knew that every story he could get from his grandfather was very precious.

Grandpa Dusenberry died just before baseball started last season. DD missed a couple of games before he returned to his team. He had his best season ever as he dedicated his play to Grandpa. In one game he had two home runs, both easily clearing the right-field fence more than 200 feet away. Spectators had noticed the tears in his eyes as he touched home plate. After the game, his mom had hugged and hugged him and both had cried. She knew DD was playing for his grandfather that season.

While it was great his mom was there, DD was continually disappointed that his father had missed that important day in his life and many others. DD’s father did not share his son’s love of baseball and often found something more important to do instead of attending little league games. When DD had a great game-one that his dad had missed-he would gush out the details of his exploits. His father would be pleased his son was happy with his accomplishments but appeared unimpressed. Dad just didn’t get it.

Today at the end of practice, Coach Hector Estrada called his twelve players together. Six eleven-year-olds and six twelve-year-olds made up this year’s version of the little league Yankees. The Yankees were part of a six-team league and were not expected to make a run for the championship. The Dodgers had nine twelve-year-olds and an ace pitcher that NEVER lost a game. DD had no illusions about the Yanks’ chances of pulling an upset and beating the Dodgers. A winning record, however, under the guidance of Coach Estrada was still something to shoot for.

“Everyone take a knee,” shouted the coach. “I’ve got something important to tell all of you. “ As the team started to form a semi-circle around the coach an excited buzz began between them. “Some of you guys I’ve coached for several years and I’ve enjoyed watching you grow up and learn the game. I hope I’ve made this game fun for you so that you’ll want to keep playing for years to come.”

PG. 15 TGACD R. ZEIS

DD stared at his coach and sensed that something was wrong. Coach Estrada was usually upbeat and excited when he coached his kids. That wasn’t the case today. The young Dusenberry found himself holding his breath as his coach continued.

“I might as well get to the point,” said the coach as he gazed at the baseball diamond behind his kneeling players. “I’ve lost my job at Fenway Motors. The owner has sold the place and the new owner decided to make some changes. Unfortunately, I was one of those changes.” Groans arose from his players. “What does that mean?” one of the kids asked.

“It means I had to take another job away from Grande Forkes. I have to move away and cannot be your coach anymore. I’m sorry.”

The young players then jumped to their feet and everyone started talking at the same time. “Why can’t you stay?” “Find another job here.” “What about us?” “Who is going to coach?”

Estrada felt like he was abandoning part of his family. He enjoyed coaching and felt that was his way of giving back to his community. Life was not fair. Estrada smiled at that thought as he had tried to teach that fact to many of these children that continued to express their disappointment.

“This sucks!” yelled Grego.

Yeah, thought Estrada, this did suck.

“Everyone quiet down!” yelled the coach. After a minute Estrada was able to get everyone to calm down and re-take a knee in front of him.

“What’s going to happen to us?” asked DD.

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” explained the coach. “You’ll still be a team and have a great year. We just have to find someone to coach you, that’s all.”

“Good luck with that,” offered Grego.

The Yankees were already practicing without any assistant coaches. Estrada told the team several times it wasn’t easy to find someone to commit so much time to coaching. The job was not for everyone. Estrada, in fact, had to rely on parents volunteering to help for one game here or one practice there for the past couple of years. He didn’t want to agree with Grego, but he did have concerns about finding someone to take over his job.

“I suggest you guys need to spread the word that we need a new coach. The league has started looking already for you. Talk to your parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles.

PG. 16 TGACD R. ZEIS

Someone will step up for you.” Estrada added, “I’ll be with you for the next two practices. Hopefully, by the time I have to leave, we’ll have found someone. Now, keep those chins up!”

With the end of practice, the Yankees broke up into little groups with the majority heading towards the parking lot to catch rides home. DD and Grego left together since they both lived only a couple of blocks from the field. They didn’t say much as they walked to the 7th avenue crossing. The silence was broken when they neared Grego’s home.

“I’m gonna ask my dad if he can help out,” said Grego.

“How’s he gonna help, Grego? Your dad works nights.”

“Well,” Grego countered, “he has weekends off and we play a lot of games on Saturdays. That might help some.”

DD shook his head. “Yeah, that might help. But, we need someone full time.”

“How about your dad?” asked Grego.

“My dad?” sighed DD. “I guess I can ask.” DD didn’t sound too hopeful.

“Good. Maybe our problem will be solved.” Grego, ever the optimist, waved good-bye to his friend as they reached his house.

DD waved at him and then turned to stare back at the baseball field that was still in sight a couple of blocks away. DD thought baseball fields were the most beautiful things in the world. And as he stared at this most important real estate he saw something strange. Was that fog forming near the pitcher’s mound? It was a clear day. Where had that come from? Oh well, he thought, it was a strange day after all. With a shrug of his shoulders, he turned away from the field and headed to his house just a short distance away.

If DD had continued to stare at the field just a moment longer he might have seen a figure appear to emerge from the fog and stare up the road at him.